Rantipole
by elowencora
Summary: Albus Potter is sucked into a new edition of the Triwizard Tournament, adamant to earn respect and flee from his father's shadow. And, okay, also to impress a girl. She isn't impressed, though. Bernadette and Albus haven't always seen eye to eye, but she doesn't want Rose's cousin getting hurt. Together they work to keep Albus alive through beasts and challenges unforeseen.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

Bernadette pointedly ignored the odd looks and disapproving glares her hooting owl attracted in the muggle side of Kings Cross Station. After all, they were unused to seeing owls being carted around through busy train stations by disheveled teens, though she doubted she was the first one to do so today.

 _More like the last._

Gritting her teeth, she swerved around a short businessman and a mother with jumpy toddlers hanging onto her fingers, both of whom frowned at her retreating back. She mentally flipped them off. Even without Kiwi screeching and scratching her cage indignantly, Bernadette would have received dirty looks. Most muggles intuitively sensed something odd in her, though they couldn't pinpoint _what_ , and kept their distance or pushed her away.

She'd spent eleven years in dark, unable to figure out which part of her was broken or how to fix it until a barn owl swooped into her living room and dropped a letter on her lap. She was a witch – a muggleborn – and she was invited to attend a prestigious school that would teach her magic. Bernadette spent that evening staring at the ceiling of her room with her parents' screaming match as a lovely backdrop.

"… your fault!"

"… not my child… devilry!"

She carefully unfolded the parchment and held it up to her eyes with a featherlight touch, afraid it might burn her or, maybe, burn away into nothing. She read it until her eyes itched and the words blurred on the page. The next morning, neither one of her parents spoke or touched her, they averted their gaze as if what she had – what she _was,_ were contagious.

By the time September 1st arrived, they had steeled their nerves and slipped into cool detachment. Mother shoved the trolley into her hands, father nodded a tense goodbye, and they both left her in a sea of distracted bumbling bodies. It was a miracle that eleven-year-old Bernadette wasn't stomped to death by the distracted passerby, let alone found the secret platform and made it aboard the train.

She'd cried the whole first ride to school. And then, she'd promised she would never cry because of them again, and kept that oath religiously.

As long as she didn't make herself look at the disgust in their eyes whenever she was forced to go home, Bernadette could pretend she was unbothered by the situation.

"Watch where you're going, kid!"

She huffed and made a sharp left turn, throwing a protective arm over Kiwi's rattling cage. The owl screeched like she meant to bite her fingers off the next time she needed to send a letter, unhappy with all the jostling.

"Sorry, pal, I'm doing my best here," she murmured.

She paused her mad run and got up on the tip of her toes and see over the crowd, when her eyes finally latched onto magical barrier that muggles passed by unaware, a smile ghosted across her lips.

Yes, learning she was a witch had brought severe changes to her life. But every time she crossed over to the wizarding world, every minute she spent at Hogwarts, practicing magic, felt like a rollercoaster drop – infused with adrenaline and marvelously liberating.

Bernadette screwed her eyes shut and pushed through the magical barrier, she emerged on a chaotic platform 9 and ¾ where parents and grandparents loitered to say farewell and magical trunks and pets were zoomed haphazardly over her head. She tried to weave through the crowd without upsetting her bird any further, which was challenging while searching for a familiar head of red hair.

However, if with the general noise and disorder it was hard to hear her own thoughts, then finding Rose was near impossible. Bernadette checked her watch and confirmed what she already knew – she'd just made it before missing the Hogwarts Express. Perhaps it would be less of a hassle to simply look for her friend on the train.

Sighing, Bernadette lowered Kiwi's cage to the floor and wrestled her trunk off the trolley. She scratched the back of her neck, gaze flitting from the heavy carry-on, the frazzled pet, and the steaming train. Should she leave the luggage and load Kiwi first or first the luggage and leave her pet on the station floor subject to possible trampling?

A warning screech told her not to push her luck with the owl's leniency. Rolling back her shoulders, Bernadette picked up the cage and turned around for her trunk only to find it off the ground and with masculine hands gripping the strap. Caught off guard, she hopped back rather suddenly, to Kiwi's dismay, as her eyes traveled up, past standard black robes and a Gryffindor tie, to land on-

"Your poor owl," chuckled the black-haired boy, "has bloody murder written in its eyes."

"Albus." She cleared her throat, refusing to acknowledge the burning of her cheeks.

"Birdie," he quipped back, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't call me that."

"Rose does."

"You're not Rose." She turned and boarded the train, knowing she was being rude but that he would take her trunk with him anyway. That was Albus Potter for you, reckless, annoying, stubborn and tirelessly chivalrous – a poster boy of house Gryffindor.

"That hurts," he teased, "I like to think I inherited just as much of the Weasley charm and good looks as she did."

Bernadette turned in time to see his winning grin and wink before he took the lead, carrying her trunk with one hand, and she had to hurry her step to keep up.

 _How is he lifting that like it's filled with feathers and not books?_

Her gaze wandered up his figure while her cheeks silently betrayed the sneaky act. Albus had gained at least 5 centimeters on her since the last term. He had the build of a seeker, like his father, lean and tall. He was fairly strong but primarily graceful and fluid in his movements. There was no way he could have carried her massive trunk without straining a muscle.

Bernadette cocked her head to the side and squinted at him. He must have enchanted it lighter since he, unlike her, had his wand with him at all times. Her parents would snap hers if they found it in the house. (And then they might be inclined to snap _her_ , too.)

"Running late, huh, Birdie." He pulled her from her thoughts and their eyes met, his over his shoulders and hers wide and slightly startled. "Your five alarms didn't go off?"

Her fist clenched tighter on Kiwi's cage.

The teasing was familiar. Ever since their first year, they riled each other up with petty arguments and pointless debates. Nothing serious or akin to a rivalry. They were both stubborn idiots, in the words of Rose herself, and just managed to bring out the stupid in each other. They'd gotten better at dealing with it over the years.

However, today she _had_ woken up late. Her mother took down her clock and posters while she was away, and the girl forgot to charge her cell phone since she couldn't bring it to school so that alarm hadn't gone off either. Her morning started in nerve-wracking rushing, wrestling her trunk and, not so gently, getting her bird in its cage.

Out of all their classmates, she was praised by the teachers constantly for punctuality and diligence. She was also made fun of, by said classmates, for her obsession with being on time.

This was not a reminder she needed at the moment from Albus.

"Not all of us have fancy Ministry issued escorts, Potter."

Low blow. His family's 'celebrity' status was not game in their fights, just as her dysfunctional home life was out of bounds.

Bernadette saw his posture tense up immediately. He turned, and she expected a working jaw and glinting eyes – the beginning of a fight. Instead, she was greeted by inquisitive brows and an open emerald gaze.

His eyes were by far his best features, though she would never admit it aloud. They were sharp and intelligent, quick to notice any changes be that an evasive snitch or a souring mood. It usually bothered her, seeing as he had no problem antagonizing her despite his smart perception of when things were going south. But not today.

He read her like a book and his features softened.

"I'm sorry," he said. There was a pause, a blink of a hummingbird, in which they stood frozen in place before he continued making way through the train.

His reaction was unlike anything she could have predicted. And it sounded… genuine.

Creasing her brow, Bernadette followed him.

The final whistle, signifying departure, sounded while they were crossing wagons and they had to stop while the train pushed off to avoid toppling over. The platform and its waving occupants formed a passing portrait on the clear windows and the muffled sound of the steam engine soothed the anxious patter of her heart. She had made it aboard. She was going back to Hogwarts.

A smile overtook her lips.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Albus watching her, his hands fiddling with the trunks' handle. Bernadette tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, her eyes roaming the floor with exaggerated interest.

The boy chuckled silently and started down the corridor again. Scolding herself for acting like bumbling third-year, she picked up Kiwi and entered the compartment after him with her attention still elsewhere. Big mistake.

A red tornado tackled her and, if not for Hugo's fast reflexes, the birdcage would have clattered to the floor. As it was, Hugo caught the cage, banging his forehead on its bars in the process. Bernadette and her fiery tornado, however, were not as lucky. They tumbled down in a confusion of limbs and bouncy red curls, half out of the compartment.

Bernadette huffed, trying to breathe with the heavy weight on her chest without swallowing a stray curl. Her butt promised to be sore for days.

"Birdie," the girl cried, uselessly pushing back her hair with one hand while balancing upright with the other.

Laughter echoed out of the compartment. Bernadette glimpsed Albus and his cousin Hugo, who now sported a red bump on his head, shaking their heads and gasping for air. She let her head drop back to the ground.

"Why did you tackle me, you maniac?"

Her best friend smiled wide, eyes crinkling. "I know you missed me, Birdie. Don't try to deny it."

Bernadette moved out from under her and into a sitting position, gingerly patting her head. "Of course," she replied, "but I know how to express the sentiment without giving you a concussion."

"Don't be dramatic," the redhead said, rolling her eyes dramatically, "it's your fault anyway. I went mad, I thought you weren't coming!"

She could read the implied meaning in her friend's face.

 _I thought your parents had kept you locked in or something worse._

Bernadette placed a gentle hand on Rose's shoulder.

"It's true," Albus quipped, placing her trunk in the overhead compartment. "Poor Hugo was nearly throttled to death in her moment of lunacy."

The boy absently confirmed this with a nod while smoothing her owl's ruffled feathers. Kiwi pressed closer to the bars to help him.

Shaking her head, Bernadette stood and pulled up her friend with one hand and dusted off her worn jeans and jumper with the other. "You need yoga, Rose. Lots and lots of yoga."

The redhead shrugged and sat on one of the cushioned seats, patting for her to do the same. She obliged, though her sore butt complained.

"Thankfully, I was here to save the day," Albus continued. He took Kiwi from Hugo's hands and placed the cage in its designated hanger. "Neither this owl nor this boy would have survived at the hands of you two."

Rose playfully kicked Hugo's shin at the small giggle that escaped his lips. "Shut up."

"Thank you," the words left Bernadette before she could second-guess herself. The relief of sitting beside her friend again, shooting towards her favorite place in the world, smothered the part of her that liked to antagonize him. His apology in the corridor still played in her mind. "Thank you for finding me. The platform was crazy crowded, and I was completely lost."

"No problem, Birdie," he smiled. "It wasn't hard to find you at all."

She ignored the teasing nickname and waggling eyebrows. "You're good at finding people," there was a hint of curiosity in her tone.

During her years at Hogwarts, Bernadette had come to appreciate _and_ dislike his uncanny ability to find whoever they needed. It was good when they were in a rush or avoiding detention, but annoying when she wanted to hide from someone, usually Rose after they had a fight, and he led them straight to her.

"Ha," he said, "I have my methods."

He and Rose exchanged a peculiar look that made her feel left out of something important. It was to be expected, they were family. They had their own secrets and inside jokes, she was no part of.

"Okay," she smiled tightly, turning her gaze to the fields fleeting by in the window.

"I'll tell you this," he said, prompting her to face him without even thinking about it, "I rarely need them to find you."

She shouldn't have said anything, he wore a face glinting with daring, mischief and something else, just like he did before their fights. But that look made her heart race and pushed out a meek "why" lodged in her throat.

"With you it's easy, I just look for the prettiest face in the crowd."

He then exited their compartment promising to bring back candy from the witch's trolley.

Bernadette wished he'd punched her, insulted her or thrown a bucket of dragon spit over her head instead. Rose's frown deepened, and she squirmed beside her muggleborn friend, nose twitching like a dog that had caught the scent of a juicy sausage. Bernadette evaded her eyes, wetting her lips and silently cursing her inability to keep from blushing at the stupidest things.

A few minutes of silence passed between them. Hugo cracked open a novel to escape the tension buzzing in the compartment, but Rose wasn't going to be dissuaded so easily.

She composed her features and tried for a nonchalant tone. "That was new, huh."

"What," Bernadette offered, blinking in her best attempt to seem stupid which wasn't difficult, "what are we talking about?"

Rose laughed softly, shaking her head, "Merlin's beard, you two are quite something."

The brunette couldn't argue with that.

* * *

The train was half-way to its destination when Bernadette detangled herself from her best friend to go change into her school robes.

Rose, prepared as always, had already boarded in her Ravenclaw garb and decided to stay in the compartment to ensure they didn't miss the trolley witch. She didn't plan on reaching the castle famished.

Bernadette left only after she made her friend promise to buy candy-apples, her favorite sweet.

"Apples aren't sweets. They are fruit, Birdie."

"Fruits are sweet." The other girl hopped precariously onto the cushions to reach her trunk and unpack her uniform. "And candy-apples are covered in sugar, so they're extra sweet."

"You take the fun out of everything."

"And still, you love me."

Rose poked her in the stomach as she left with a bundle in her arms, and she stuck out her tongue playfully.

Bernadette slipped into the cramped bathroom and assessed her reflection. Tired eyes, wavy hair that stuck up at odd angles and, would you look at that, her jumper had mustard stains on its collar. All by-products of fleeing the house in under five minutes.

Albus' words rang in the back of her mind, he'd called her pretty. She frowned at her reflection.

 _Nope, not thinking about that. Moving on._

She removed her jumper and jeans, splashed warm water on her face and put on her uniform. He hadn't called her pretty before. But maybe pretty meant cute, like a puppy or a little sister. She shuddered. They were the same age, there was no way he could think of her as a little sister.

She shook her head vigorously.

 _Stop. Stop thinking about it._

She knotted the blue and silver tie tighter than was probably healthy, staring disapprovingly into the mirror.

 _Focus Bern, it's Albus we're talking about. You hate him._

 _I don't_ hate _him._

 _Okay, fine. He's like a brother to you then, how's that? I think that's great actually. Yes. Like a brother. I decided he's like a brother and not the-_

Three sharp knocks startled her out of her imaginary discussion. Bernadette banged her hip on the sink and bit down a cry and a string of profanities.

"Do you plan on hogging the bathroom the entire trip?"

The voice was male and clearly dissatisfied. She threw her reflection one last warning glare, picked up her folded clothes and opened the door.

The male in question was a boy, and the boy in question was taller than she'd anticipated. Her gaze flitted up to stormy eyes and a smirk. The boy pushed off the other side of the corridor where he had been leaning.

"Miss Crane." He didn't sound surprised.

"Mr. Malfoy," she nodded.

They stopped in front of one another for a moment, then Scorpius' face broke into a reluctant smile which she found herself returning.

"I didn't think I would miss you much."

"Jerk," she rolled her eyes.

He laughed, short but sweet, and slipped an arm around her shoulder. "Come on, we have catching up to do."

It was her turn to laugh, "I know exactly what you mean by catching up, Malfoy. So, I'm gonna have to pass, for now. I'm currently preoccupied."

He feigned hurt by throwing a hand casually over his heart. "You judge me, miss."

Bernadette patted his shoulder, "I promise we'll find time at school, in between classes, maybe. I have a plan this time, rock-solid."

"I do find your plans adorable."

"Don't mock my plans," she pushed his arm lightly. "They're the only thing you've got."

"And I'm thankful for them," he assured with his hands in praying position.

"Good," Bernadette looked down the aisle toward the compartment where her friends awaited her. "I better get going."

At that moment, Albus popped out through the compartment doors, an assortment of sweets in his arms. His expression was relaxed until it focused on her and Scorpius.

Bernadette's stomach clenched. She turned to the blond boy, "Bye, Scor."

He nodded, still smiling, and left in the other direction.

She pressed her clothes to her chest and walked back to her compartment, but Albus was gone.

"What took you so long?" Rose asked, shoving a candy-apple in her hand.

"I got- I was just changing."

"Duh," her friend replied.

Bernadette set down her clothes and pressed her nose to the compartment door, eyes searching. "Thanks for the apple," she said absently.

"Don't thank me."

The brunette faced her friends, brows raised.

Hugo caught her expression and stopped munching his chocolate frog long enough to say, "Albus."

Bernadette nodded longer than necessary, aware that Rose was watching her, and sat down. She twirled the stick, stomach too agitated for food.

Night had fallen outside their window, and the castle lights were faintly visible. The train made a turn and gave them a premium view of the grounds, the Great Lake and the Forbidden Forest, before descending to the station at Hogsmeade.

"Put away the book, Hugo," his sister announced. "We're here."

10


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The mouth-watering smell of roasted potatoes and turkey sandwiches that floated past the double doors of the Great Hall invited the travel-worn children to come inside.

If possible, the place seemed more stunning than ever. The high ceiling twinkled with the illusion of the night's sky, and the floating candles gave the room a homely glow. Bernadette soaked up the magic of it, enchanted.

Of course, her perception of the feast was biased due to the summer spent at her parents' house (locked bedroom doors, labeled takeaway at the bottom of the fridge, and withering side-glances, were bound to make even an abandoned McDonalds charming.)

The crowd parted towards their respective house tables. Sitting with your house was only obligatory for the first and last feast of the year. Throughout the term, table arrangements were largely ignored. This was one of the first changes headmistress McGonagall had instated when assuming her post as a way of encouraging inter-house friendships and cooperation. The healthy competition for quidditch matches and the House Cup was allowed, but Hogwarts would no longer admit segregation and animosity.

The wizarding world had seen enough of that.

Waving to her plethora of relatives, Rose made for the Ravenclaw table pulling her friend along, eager to find a spot close to the pudding. She frowned at the mingling students in their way – no good loiterers – and wove around them.

"Must – get – food," she panted.

Finally, they found an empty stretch of the bench and seized it, plopping down with a sigh in front of an assortment of treats.

"Oh, apple pie." The redhead closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

Bernadette restrained a laugh and shook her head. While Rose Granger-Weasley had inherited her mother's unbound curiosity and academic dedication, her stomach was undoubtedly her father's. She had an insatiable appetite and a penchant for sweets.

"We haven't even gone through the sorting, Rose. You can't inhale the food."

"But – it's not fair," she grumbled. "They can't put plates and plates of sweets in front of me and expect me to _just_ look at them."

"Now, now," Bernadette tutted. "Such a bright witch, so little self-control."

"Shut up, Birdie."

A sharp clap of hands brought the room's attention to the marble podium, where the headmistress rested her elbows. The buzz of voices hushed, and the remaining busybodies took their seats.

McGonagall announced the beginning of the sorting ceremony, motioning for the Sorting Hat and stool to be brought up onto the dais. The once black hat, now worn and frayed, was placed on the first student's head.

"Hufflepuff."

Cheers and claps followed the decision of each child's house, and the Great Hall was soon buzzing with excitement and laughter. But as the sorting proceeded, it became clear to Bernadette that the Sorting Hat was drained. Whereas on her first feast it had sung and bantered for an hour, tonight it drooped pitifully and droned the house names.

"Something is wrong," Rose whispered.

Bernadette scanned her friend's bitten nails and tapping fingers, and she frowned. "Maybe its enchantment is coming undone," Bernadette offered, though she was more concerned with her friend than the hat. "It is ancient, after all. It deserves a break."

Rose shook her head, "I mean the headmistress."

The witch stood regally by the marble podium, hands twined and a clean expression marking her features. Bernadette was about to ask her friend what she was on about when she saw it – a tiny twitch of the headmistress' forehead. Almost imperceptible.

Yes, there was an edge to the older witch's posture that didn't quite fit in, and her expression was too careful to be relaxed.

Bernadette's hand shot under the table and squeezed her friend's fingers, dread trickling into her lungs like poison, burning.

"Something is wrong," Bernadette echoed.

Anything that made McGonagall tense was worth worrying over.

"Thank you, children. That concludes our sorting ceremony." McGonagall shifted on her feet, unusually agitated, while the first years settled down. "I have one final announcement – your attention, please."

Bernadette bit her lip at the cold shiver that slithered down her spine. Something was off.

Rose sensed it too, their hands were still firmly clasped on the bench between them.

"This year, the International Committee of Wizards met to analyze the performance of wizarding schools all over the world." McGonagall's face was drawn, she looked much older than normal. "They concluded that we have significantly distanced ourselves from one another, both in method and communication, since the war."

The remaining smiles in the room faded and confused glances were exchanged. Only now, the other students tasted the odd spark in the air.

Rose held her breath.

"The last decades have been trying and dark, I need not remind you." The corner of her lips trembled. "In light of that, the Committee has decided that our schools are the ideal place to foster unity in the wizarding community. Therefore, a Triwizard Tournament has been ordered-"

The headmistress' words were swallowed by an uproar of shouts, questions and general mayhem.

"Didn't someone _die_ in the last one?"

"Voldemort!"

"Harry _freaking_ Potter, dude…"

Rose exhaled, stunned, her face a dangerous shade of green. She was crushing Bernadette's fingers in her grip, but the other girl didn't care. She barely felt it.

On the other side of the room, Albus was stupefied, an alarming dash of panic in his green eyes. Being the son of a war hero wasn't easy, and being the son of The Chosen One, the wizard who ended the Dark Lord, could at times be absolute torture. The name 'Harry Potter' hung over him in any given situation, just waiting for the opportunity to crash down.

Like it did now.

His brother was saying something in his ear, pulling on his shoulder, but Albus didn't budge. She felt a tug in her gut, a need to go over and place a hand on Albus' shoulder. Maybe smooth down his hair and tell him it would all be over soon.

Except, it _wouldn't_.

"Silence," McGonagall's voice rang over the cacophony in the hall, magically amplified by her wand.

Not one peep defied her command. Everyone was shocked mute.

"The schools were separated into groups of three," she continued, hands fisted together on the podium. "Hogwarts will be hosting our friends from Beauxbatons and Castelobruxo. This tournament is comprised of three trials that will span the space of four months to determine a champion. Detailing of the rules, tests and accommodation arrangements will be shared in the following week by the Head of each house."

Squirming was quelled by a steely gaze from the headmistress. She was scared but not cowering, her tone was hard as rock when she said, "Years six and seven are allowed to enter their name for the chance to represent our school. No one else. This competition is meant to unite us and encourage the remembrance of our past. Safety is everyone's priority, rest assured."

With that she wrapped up her speech, initiating the feast and returning to her seat mechanically. Her lips remained a thin line throughout, not a fork of food left her plate, which was unencouraging.

Rose, likewise, had lost an interest in eating and sat in silence until they were called away to bed, at which point she gave Bernadette's hand a final squeeze and darted into the crowd to find her relatives.

Under normal circumstances, it would have hurt to be ignored by her friend. But tonight, even Bernadette yearned to pat down the boys and wrap them in a blanket.

With a parting glance at pale Albus and his gathered family, Bernadette made for her dorm in the west tower.

* * *

Bernadette woke up, for the first time in months, unhurriedly.

The tallest room in Ravenclaw tower had been her haven ever since she'd stumble in, six years ago, wiping away rebellious tears and was greeted by a jumpy, beaming redhead – her only roommate. This room was smaller than others, under the low hanging ceiling there was only space for two beds.

Two people.

It had its perks. Distance from noise and distraction, a plus when studying for finals. A marvelous view of the grounds. A skylight. Rapunzel-esque vibes. And only one roommate.

She sat up slowly and blinked the sleep from her eyes. The blue bedsheets pooled in her lap as she ran a hand through her knotted hair, wondering whether Rose had decided to spend the night in one of her relatives' room.

The matted curls decorating the bed on the other side of the room answered her question. Rose's soft sleepy mumbling made the corners of Bernadette's mouth quirk up, despite herself.

She was _home_ – finally.

The brunette padded silently to the bathroom, unwilling to disturb her friend just yet. She brushed her teeth and rubbed the bags under her eyes, annoyed at their reminder of McGonagall's speech – the reason she had trouble sleeping.

A dangerous tournament. Dark magic.

Death.

She shook her head, sending droplets of toothpaste flying in various directions.

 _Not now_ , she pleaded. _Try to_ enjoy _your first day._

But words flitted adamantly in her mind.

Newspapers she'd accidentally stumbled upon while in the library, doing research for History of Magic. Headlines that turned from excited and praising to terrified, confused and heartbreaking. Moving pictures of a frazzled boy with a lighting scar clutching a lifeless body. A father in inconsolable tears. Sirens. Dragons. A maze.

Worst of all, she couldn't shake the memory of a frosty Christmas night when screams had woken her up. It was the first and last time she gave in to Rose's pleas to leave Hogwarts and spend the holidays at the Potter-Weasley home. The screams made her heart pound, she pressed her ear to the thin walls and heard someone babbling about a Cedric, killing curses and scars hurting. She'd pulled away, instantly ashamed for intruding on a private and sensitive moment. She knew the Potters were in that room.

It hadn't all made sense then, but she had pieced the story together since, from books, articles, and a few gossiping mouths at the Three Broomsticks.

The Triwizard Tournament was the catalyzer of the war, it was the return of the Dark Lord and his threat to wizardkind. A champion had been killed. Harry Potter had been kidnapped and seen Voldemort rise. No one had believed him.

And now, the International Committee of Wizards was digging it up again, shoving it in everyone's faces and forcing them to relive this tragedy.

And for what? Unity? Remembrance?

Bullshit.

The cruel, unfeeling bastards got a kick from rubbing salt into someone else's wounds.

"Birdie?"

Bernadette, startled, dropped her brush in the sink and nearly swallowed the paste in her mouth. "Shit," she said under her breath. "Yeah, Rose? I'm almost finished, I swear!"

While she waited for her friend to freshen up, Bernadette hurried about the room and unpacked her trunk, although most of her belongings had stayed at Hogwarts. Her clothes, new school supplies, and Kiwi's empty cage were soon set in their proper places and she stood, proudly examining them, before stuffing her hand in her pillowcase to extract her wand.

Oh, how she'd missed her wand!

The comforting tickle of magic spread from her fingers to her toes as she spelled both sets of sheets clean and tidied the beds with a flick of her wrist.

Rose entered the room with half of her hair in a braid and the other half sticking up like she'd been playing with a fork and a toaster. Her skin was a shade too pale and her lids droopier than usual, but other than that the witch had concealed the effects of a bad night's rest with cream and some well-applied spells.

"Come on, it takes forever to reach the Hall and I'm already starving!"

"When are you not?" Bernadette rolled her eyes, smiling, and held the door open.

It took them fifteen minutes to climb down from their room to the Great Hall – the downside of living in the tallest room of the tallest tower. By the time they arrived, the tables were buzzing with chatter and kids gulping down pancakes and cherry scones.

Bernadette moved toward the Ravenclaw table, but Rose caught her wrist with slightly shaking fingers.

"I'm gonna sit with Al, James, and Lily," she said, nodding towards the loudest table – Gryffindor – where her brother, squished between Lily Potter and Fred Weasley, spread jam on toast.

Bernadette was used to Rose sharing her mealtimes between both tables. In light of recent news, the girl had already expected Rose to choose her family this morning. She nodded quickly, unsure whether and how to offer comfort and advice, but before she could pull away Rose's grip tightened.

Rose's eyes pleaded silently, "Do you want to come?"

Normally, Bernadette would say no to such an invitation. Diving into Potter and Weasley family-time was a sure way to spiral into self-pity and jealousy, which she absolutely loathed doing. Except… normally, Rose wouldn't ask because she knew her friend didn't feel good about it. For her to do so –

She really needed support now.

As much as the thought of discussing the Triwizard Tournament in a table full of Gryffindors made her stomach turn, Bernadette sucked it up and forced herself to smile.

"Sure."

Rose pulled Bernadette into her mess of relatives and sat next to Lily who was tapping her fingers absently, unaware that her gray-and-yellow Hufflepuff tie was swimming in cereal.

The brunette, mouth dry, quickly plopped into the first vacant space she found and started stacking pancakes to keep her hands busy.

"That's what I call a healthy appetite," Albus said, the lightness of his tone not quite reaching his eyes.

It was only then that she realized she'd sat right next to him. And that she had ten pancakes wobbling precariously on her plate. Her ears burned.

"Yeah, because uh, I mean," she let go of the fork, eyes wide and feet tapping, "food is fuel, and eating is important."

 _Eating is important?_

 _What?!_

Where was that prized Ravenclaw wit when you needed it?

The corner of his lips tipped up in the beginning of a smile, it was enough to erase the frown-lines on his forehead. The shift was minimal but made his face regain some much-needed levity. That, alone, made the embarrassment and regret toasting her insides a little more bearable.

"You're right about that, Birdie."

She exhaled in relief and, with steadier hands, picked up her utensils. She wasn't the right person to talk to him about wizarding tournaments and family trauma, but she could try to inject his morning with some habitual teasing and, perhaps, a semblance of normalcy.

"The concept of 'don't play with your food' is a mystery to you, is it not?" she motioned to the shredded, uneaten bacon on his plate.

"So, I like mauling my breakfast." He shrugged. "Let a guy live."

His eyes glinted playfully. To her surprise, he picked up his fork and took a bite of the bacon. Her heart pattered with relief and something warm.

A sob pulled both of their attentions to Lily and Rose, who sat across the table. The latter pulled Lily in a one-armed hug and smoothed down her hair.

"There, there," she hushed, staring down the students who dared intrude on her cousin's vulnerable moment.

Hugo, Fred, and James crossed their arms and raised their chins. All passing students quickly found somewhere else to look.

"She's not going to send you home, Lil," Rose promised.

Bernadette frowned, turning to the boy beside her only to see his mood had crumbled. His shoulders were bunched up, head hung down. He wouldn't meet her gaze.

"McGonagall sent them a – a letter, Rosie." Lily wiped her cheeks furiously with her sleeves, tears competing with anger on her face. "My dad flipped, he owled saying he wants us out of here – that it's not safe. McGonagall agrees with him. Last night's talk was bullshit. She's scared, he's scared, and-"

More tears ensued.

 _The Potters were leaving?_

Bernadette's eyes trailed to Albus of their own accord. The only indicator that he was listening were his increasingly white knuckles and reddening face. She knotted her hands in her lap to keep from running them down his back in soothing circles.

 _Breathe_ , she wanted to tell him. _Breathe, you moron._

"Lily," Rose said, holding down her cousin's hands. "Lily Potter, shut up."

The girl gaped as tears gave way to affronted brows, but she did stop talking.

"You will not miss a year of school, none of you will. Your dad is just scared. Scared people panic, and panicked people say crazy stuff. Things will cool down," she silenced Lily's beginning of a protest with a tut, "they will, sugar. I know for a fact Aunt Ginny won't agree to this, she'll talk sense into him."

"Yeah, Lily." James gave his sister a reassuring smile. "It's not like we're entering our names in the competition. We're not stupid. Dad will see that eventually, he'll calm down and everything will go back to normal."

Albus snorted like the prospect of normal was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Bernadette couldn't blame him.

"See? Nothing to worry about." Rose put on a brave smile for her cousin.

The bench scrapped loudly as Albus shot up, startling Bernadette and the others, and stalked towards the exit without a word.

James frowned at his brother's back, gingerly patting a crying Lily's hand.

Normally, Bernadette would have stayed put. Her relationship with Albus Potter was delicate, and founded on occasional arguing. They'd never comforted one another or discussed feelings. In fact, they were barely friends. She had no obligation to follow him out and see if he was alright.

Normally, she would bolt in the other direction, glad to evade Potter-Weasley drama and shenanigans.

But today was already irreparably atypical.

 _What the hell? Do it._

She heard Rose calling her name, but she didn't want to waste time turning back and explaining herself. She wouldn't be able to anyways. Threading through students, Bernadette made it out the double doors in time to shout his name over the crowd and see him pause and turn on the stairs, but then a hand on her shoulder turned her around and towards a grim Scorpius.

"Bernadette, we need to talk," he said.

"Not now," she cried in frustration, breaking out of his hold. But when she faced the stairs again, Albus was gone.

"Yes, now," he pressed.

The fear in his eyes was the only thing that made her pause where she normally would've bitten his head off for being an imposing jerk.

She'd never seen him openly scared before.

"We _need_ to talk."

She nodded, crossing her arms and letting him lead her away from the Great Hall.

She'd resigned herself to the fact that today would not be a normal day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

In the end, Scorpius had had good reason to be pushy (and scared).

Bernadette was still reeling from their conversation when she finally made it to Care of Magical Creatures, ten minutes late. Her classmates paid her no attention, all too absorbed in their open textbooks and the smoky creatures in glass jars in front of them. Hagrid was chattering excitedly, holding one such container dangerously close to his face. He gave her a quick welcoming nod, as she battled her bookbag and pulled out her materials.

She was lucky it had been him and not Flitwick, the Head of Ravenclaw house was not as lenient. And rightly so, tardiness was slacking, and slacking showed disinterest in your education.

She hated being tardy and missing class.

" _There was a note in my bag this morning,"_ the memory of Scorpius's voice tugged her hopelessly away. _"A threat."_

Bernadette's mouth went dry again, as it had when he'd pulled her behind the tapestry and pushed a piece of parchment into her hands, his own slightly trembling.

Scrawled writing said: _People like you are better suited for ash. Prepare to burn for your sins, Death Eater son._

She had read it once, twice, turned it over, and inspected every inch of it for a curse or incantation. But it was just an ordinary slip of paper. An ordinary slip of paper… with a death threat.

Scorpius's eyes trailed around, bouncing from her to the paper, to the tapestry, and back to her. He kept licking his lips and rubbing his neck.

" _So?"_ he'd asked.

" _It's— I mean, there's nothing on it, Scor."_ She'd held out the note, but he'd shied away and stumbled until his back hit the wall.

" _There's a death threat on it,"_ he'd ground out.

Bernadette had swallowed, unused, and uncomfortable, with seeing him so out of composure. Their relationship had always been unconventional, she'd never understood where the boundaries stood, but she hadn't expected him to bring her such a personal problem – especially one that painted him in a vulnerable light. What was the appropriate response to it?

She'd slipped the note into her own bag and stepped forward to touch his arm. _"I know. But the parchment is clean – no magic. This is just someone's idea of a lame prank."_

The boy pulled away and stalked to the other side of the small alcove. Facing the opposite way, he whispered barely loud enough to hear, _"It came with a parcel, Bee. A toasted scorpion."_

Bernadette certainly hadn't known what to say to that.

"HEY—WHERE'RE YOUR GLOVES, MISTER?"

Hagrid's bellowing brought her back to the present. Apparently, Guilherme Blackwater had unscrewed a glass jar and was handling one of the smoke-creatures, Wishwashes, with bare hands. Bernadette watched as the boy's tan arms sprouted sick purple blisters and his nose swelled to the size of a peach.

Hagrid scooped the boy into his giant arms and ran for the castle, leaving the smoke-creature to fly off into the forest behind them.

Everyone was glad to see it go.

Wishwashes were extremely toxic and needed extra-careful handling. If they came in contact with the skin, painful blisters, fevers, and headaches would follow. Bernadette also recalled from her reading, that wizards who inhaled the smoke directly could pass out for days, trapped in vision-like dreams. Subjects ardently claimed to have seen the future while in the trance, but she was skeptical of these accounts at best.

"He wanted to prove he had dragon-blood," Tia said, snorting to her friend. "Wouldn't shut up about Castelobruxo's leading research on Wishwashes, on the train. He was unbearable."

"What research?" Bernadette abandoned her jar and scuttled over to where the two girls were sitting.

Tia had a very pleased smile on her lips. Bernadette had learned from years of acquaintanceship that the only thing the Ravenclaw enjoyed more than acing an exam was disproving other's academic opinions.

"He spent the summer with his grandparents in Brazil, participating in an in-depth Magical Creatures study, at Castelobruxo." Tia rolled her eyes as if this was the silliest thing she'd ever heard. "He came back swearing by their findings, saying Hippogriff tears could cure vampire-pox and Wishwashes weren't toxic to the dragon-blooded. Honestly," the girl snickered, "if you're gonna trust rainforest-wizards to know Britain's fauna better than us, you deserve the blisters."

Bernadette nodded, not really paying attention anymore.

 _Dragon-blooded_ … where had she heard that term before?

It was then that Hagrid returned, red-faced, and announced that class was dismissed for today. He gathered the glass jars in his arms as students packed up and left, and brought them to the front steps of his hut.

Bernadette paused, fiddling with the strap of her bag.

Should she go over and talk to him? Ask him if he was alright?

Hagrid, she'd learned, despite his size and disheveled looks, was quite sensitive. Especially in regard to his class and critters. During her second year, she, Rose, and Albus spent an entire afternoon consoling him after a particular womb-rat lesson had gone awry.

Rose and Albus no longer took Care of Magical Creatures; the former was taking too many NEWT-level Ancient Runes classes, and the latter had to fit Quidditch practice in his tight schedule of preparatory courses for wandmaking.

Bernadette, however, couldn't bear to leave Hagrid, no matter how dangerous his lessons. He'd been most attentive and kind to her when she'd first come to Hogwarts. She still remembered his gentle hands guiding her onto the first-year boats. He had a calming and trustworthy aura, she suspected derived from his practice dealing with wild and easily spooked creatures. Bernadette felt at ease talking with him, and it seemed to be mutual.

Judging from his flustered state though, he wouldn't share much. She decided to return before dinner, so he'd have time to cool off.

The main entrance was packed with students going for lunch at the Great Hall. One glance at the commotion of bodies and Bernadette turned down the nearest staircase in quick steps, without a destination in mind other than away.

Away from the Potters and their family dilemma. Away from Rose – her heart gave a guilty pang – and her desperate attempts to fix everything.

Away from Scorpius and his heavy-hanging fear.

Bernadette needed space – desperately.

She turned corners and climbed down flights of stairs, ending up at the concealed entrance to the kitchens with a pounding heart. She wasn't Rose, she couldn't carry everyone's pain. She couldn't even carry her own.

Bernadette entered the kitchen with the intent to sweet-talk the elves into giving her a sandwich to-go and then hiding in the library until Charms.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

"Hey, Bern."

Lily Potter was sitting at one of the tables, a piece of toast in shreds on her plate (family habit?), while the elves whizzed by with platters of delicious smelling food. Lily's hair was more orange than red, unlike Rose's. The girl still sported down-turned lips, but her eyes were dry and no longer puffy, which Bernadette took to be a good sign.

Holding back a frustrated sigh, she mumbled a swift greeting and started stacking a plate with the first thing she saw – pie – hoping to make an exit before conversation trapped her here indefinitely.

"Have you seen Rose?"

Bernadette shook her head, trying to balance the plate with one hand, and her bookbag with the other.

"That's a shame, she seems to have disappeared. Maybe she's just hiding from me, I _have_ been a pain—"

"Yeah."

Bernadette suddenly lurched to the side under the weight of her bag.

What the hell? It hadn't been this heavy seconds before, and she wasn't even carrying that many books.

"Well, if you see her, Bern, tell her I need to talk to her _first_. I know she's your friend, and we've kept her busy up to now but—"

The plate of pie nearly clattered to the floor as Bernadette's bag pulled down on her shoulder. Bernadette's eyes widened, she put the food on the table and started backing out of the room warily.

"… because this has been a real bomb and— Bern?" Lily furrowed her brow. "Is everything okay?"

"No worries, I'll tell her," the girl promised absently. She turned the doorknob, still facing the room and Lily, one eye trained cautiously on her now inert bag.

"Bern?"

Bernadette flashed a smile that looked painful, and shut the door behind her, running down the corridor. Her bag yanked hard, leaving her arms and sending her sprawling to the ground. Rubbing her shoulder, she regarded the buzzing bag a few feet to her left.

 _What…?_

Drawing her wand, Bernadette opened the zipper with magic and braced for something to come shooting out, but nothing did. The bag lay prostrate on the ground for one second – two seconds…

Then a piece of paper zoomed angrily out and circled her, sparking. It appeared displeased with what it found though and zoomed right back in.

Bernadette's mouth hung open and she blinked fast, unsure what to make of this when her bag caught fire.

Tendrils of green flame blazed, burning not only the bag but the air in the room with an intoxicating, acrid smell. Bernadette stood petrified. She might've let it grow on, maybe even consume her too, for all the action she showed. Thankfully, someone dowsed it with a spell.

The smoke settled, and Bernadette's eyes met Lily Potter's on the other side of the smoldering remains of her bookbag. The ginger had her wand out and a mixture of astonishment and worry on her face.

"Okay, you win," Lily said. "We'll have to find her, but you get to use Rose first."

* * *

No place left Bernadette more ruffled than the Gryffindor common room, with its constant hubbub and movement. Gryffindors were multitaskers, they listened to music (loudly), arm-wrestled and wrote essays – all in the same room. The chaos of it was driving a needle into Bernadette's brain.

She had, somehow, gone through Charms pretending like she hadn't just watched an angry piece of parchment set fire to her school materials. There was no way she could excuse missing Flitwick's first lesson of the year, she'd explained to a dumbfounded Lily. As soon as it was over, the other girl pulled her out of the classroom and whizzed her here, the headquarters of lion-pride, setting her in front of a concerned Rose.

Why her friend would pick this mayhem as a hiding place, Bernadette would never understand.

"Were they more avocado-green or more mint-green?" Rose said, four ancient books spread out on the table in front of her.

Bernadette turned her attention back to the redhead, the reason she was enduring the present antics, but Lily answered first, raking her fingers through her hair for the seventh time.

"They were green-green."

Rose tutted, "Were they metallic or matted?"

"They were burning."

Rose lifted her eyes from the pages to shoot her cousin an annoyed glare. "If you want my help, I need the precise color. Fire-curses are elemental magic, old and tricky, any variation could mean another origin, source, and effect. In fact," she bit down on her quill and flipped a few dusty pages, "it could mean another branch of magic entirely. We might be dealing with potion-charmed fire, and not spell-charmed fire…"

Lily let out a controlled breath, knotting her hands together. "Rosie. My dear, my love," she said, stretching out a tight smile, "Her bag exploded in flames, the hallway filled with smoke. We were choking, sweating, and nearly dying. My only concern was putting the darn thing out, not comparing its hue to my pocket color-palette.

"It was _Avada_ -green," Bernadette said, eyes trained on the red-and-gold carpet. "And it scintillated."

Lily reached out and touched her hand, giving her a sympathetic look and rolling her eyes at her cousin. "So what does that make it, Picasso?"

Ignoring the jab, Rose dug a black leather volume from under the others and turned it their way, pointing with the tip of her quill at a highlighted passage. "According to Megara's 'Cursing with the Elements: How to Burn, Drown, and Crush Your Foes' green flames signify hatred. They require absolute loathing, like enemy-level loathing, to be properly cast. There are even accounts of lovelorn wizards reducing entire villages to ash—"

Lily Potter snatched the book from her hands, scanning the text quickly. "Okay, cool. We don't care about that."

Rose pursed her lips, "I don't like helping you, you're not nice at all."

Bernadette scratched her temple. The note had been in Scorpius's hands this morning, if it was meant for him, why did it catch fire on her watch?

"Rose," she said, wincing as a wild cushion hit the back of her head and laughter ensued, "I need to know how someone could cast it with a— like a timer mechanism, you know?"

"Well, it's not exactly simple."

Lily, utterly red in the face, closed the book and smacked the offending kids with it, telling them off. She stalked back towards them, groaning, "Why is it never simple with you?"

"She didn't see who cast it, now did she?" the Ravenclaw snapped. "If we knew who wanted to hurt her, we could have a better idea what they were thinking, and when and how they cursed the bag—"

"They didn't curse my bag, they cursed a note that was in it."

"A note? Maybe they wanted to sabotage your homework."

Lily hopped onto the table, creasing precious ancient tomes. "You Ravenclaws are strange people."

Bernadette stood up, struck with a sudden realization. Green fire.

Green – dark magic. The color matched the tone of dark magic, as did the purpose of the spell.

The note was for Scorpius, it meant to hurt him – burn him. Her stomach churned, she imagined what might've happened if the note had found the Slytherin, and not her when the spell set off. Whoever sent it had no qualms about doing damage, they probably used dark magic thinking it would be fitting for the son of a Death Eater.

Oh boy, they were in trouble. This wasn't the making of a stupid prank, this was…

"For the love of Merlin…" Lily put her face in her hands.

"–if I wasn't so busy solving everyone's problems, Lily Potter, maybe I could chill. But seeing as you're in a mess, she's in a mess, and he's in a mess," she shoved a thumb over her shoulder, pointing to a head of black hair. "I can't help yelling, okay?"

A startled Albus poked his head up over the back of the armchair. Bernadette's mouth went even drier, she hadn't noticed he was there. Stupid, really. Out of the four of them, he was the only one who actually had business being in that common room.

He took in his sister's tapping feet, and his cousin's wild gestures, and wisely packed his bag. There was no use trying to speak to either of them in this state. Bernadette absently wondered what problems he'd been going through with Rose. The Triwizard Tournament/dad freak-out? Or something else?

Their eyes met, and she was surprised by how striking his were (a lovely shade of spring green, she would say). She gave him a look like 'they're crazy, huh,' but regretted it when his expression remained indifferent like he hadn't even seen her. Her stomach roiled. He made for the staircase, but then paused as if thinking better, and spared her a sympathetic twitch of his lips.

 _Was he mad? What had she done?_

 _Since when do you care, Bern? You don't want to be in people's messes, and certainly not his, remember?_ She breathed in, thankful that the sensible voice in her head hadn't abandoned her yet. _There are more pressing issues._

Bernadette's fists clenched, she looked back at the two bickering redheads, who were grabbing the book out of each other's hands, and knew she couldn't tell them her theory about dark magic. They would lose it and run to McGonagall or their parents and make this a public mess like their little family break-down this morning.

Scorpius wouldn't want that, he'd come to her with his problem, trusting she wouldn't breathe a word to another soul. He hated drawing attention to his father's past sins, people didn't need the reminder to be cruel to him.

Scorpius.

The girls didn't even know the note was his in the first place. Bernadette would have to explain why she had his note in her bag, which would turn into why she was talking to him this morning, which would turn into why she was talking to him at all.

And he definitely did not want _that_ getting out.

Nicking the black book into the inside pocket of her robes, Bernadette made for the exit. She'd had enough of the Gryffindor common room, and enough of Lily and Rose's bickering. She had to think this through calmly, consider every angle before she told Scorpius anything. She didn't want him panicking needlessly, it was hard to watch and deal with.

"Where are you going?" Rose called from across the room.

Her hand on the portrait door, Bernadette mouthed, "Think."

It was their code word for 'I need space,' a useful tool they'd come up with during their first year when Rose's relatives had started crowding their dorm and their table, cramping her mind-space. Rose nodded, her lips quirked in a sympathetic smile.

The third one she received today. Surely not a good sign.

She made it back to the west tower the long way, to avoid bumping into anyone else and their problems. By the time she reached her room, a pink and purple sky winked at her through the skylight, and a day's exhaustion tugged at her limbs. She got in bed without removing her uniform, or the book concealed in it and slipped into an uneasy rest.


End file.
